


Chalet Boy

by ZenaWA



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Chalet Girl AU, F/M, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Rich Hale Family (Teen Wolf), Skateboarder!Stiles Stilinski, Snowboarder!Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23359648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenaWA/pseuds/ZenaWA
Summary: Stiles Stilinski never thought this would be his life. But after losing his mother while his father lost not only his wife, but also the Sheriff position, he had to find a way to earn some money to keep them afloat. After he started attending college, working in a diner would no longer do it, so he had to look in a different direction - a different direction being a chalet surrounded by mountains owned by some super-rich family. The cold would surely be the only problem for a California-born-and-raised.Chalet Girl AU.I own nothing.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Erica Reyes & Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, this is my first fic ever I decided to publish. English is not my first language and I'm pretty terrified of writing something like this, but I have to face my fears. So, here we go. I hope at least some of you enjoy this. :)
> 
> Also, since the movie is British and I'm gonna be using almost all the lines, there might be some unlogical usage of British English in an American setting. Feel free to comment on that and I'll do my best to fix it.

The feeling of air running through his hair snugly hidden under his helmet was by far the best feeling in the world. Okay, maybe not _the_ best - the hugs from his mum and dad were pretty cool too, and staying with Scott for a sleepover and playing video games was awesome. And curly fries! Couldn't have forgotten those! Okay, not the best, but it was definitely in _the_ top five.

He and his skateboard were practically inseparable ever since he got it for his fifth birthday. Not that it was still the same one, no, he grew way too much for that. But he was always carrying one on him. It was an easy way to get from place A to place B since he was too young to drive. But even if he could drive the baby blue jeep, which was waiting for him in the garage, he was sure the board would still be on the back seat.

His dad didn't want him to start competing when he was nine (he was just glad his son spent some time outside), but his mom signed him right up. She made a huge banner with his name and a big red heart on it, which would surely be embarrassing if he didn't love his mum as much as he did. And when he won, surprising not only everyone on the race but also himself, his mum just smiled, kissed his forehead and said "I knew you could win this, my little Mischief."

And so began the monthly races when he and both his parents (if his dad didn't have to go to the precinct) would get into the car, go to a race few towns over and bring home a medal or a cup. He never truly understood how, but it just kept happening. The speed, the tricks, everything, he never truly trained, but his body just somehow knew what to do.

Shortly after he turned fifteen, his parents took him to their favorite diner (with curly fries _and_ milkshakes!) in Beacon Hills to celebrate his birthday. When they started heading home, it was dark outside and it started to rain a little, but that couldn't spoil his mood. His dad turned the radio on and they all started singing at the top of their lungs, laughing because it sounded awful. The rain became denser, and just as they were driving along the Preserve, a truck appeared out of nowhere, heading towards them from the opposite direction. The last thing Stiles remembered before the world turned black was his mom in the front seat, her smile turning frightened as she reached her arm for him.

He woke up three days later in the hospital to an IV in his arm and a lot of beeping noises all around him. But none of those mattered. Oh no, the only important thing was his dad sitting in a chair next to his bed, his eyes puffy red, clutching his mother's wedding ring in both of his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short one, me trying to find words and also if someone might be interested in this. :)


	2. Chapter 2

_ “And today’s special: Two for one on onion rings. Onion rings two for one. Please, don’t push.” _

Stiles sighed as he looked around the practically empty diner, rolling his head backward to crack his neck. He was supposed to man the counter, but not even the onion ring special announced by the overexcited voice from somewhere behind him could get a few customers in there. 

In these moments, he wondered how and when his life turned into this.

* * *

After his shift ended, he put on a jacket and pulled his beanie deep into his forehead. He wasn’t really in the mood for someone stopping him and trying to make a small talk, be it his classmate from high school or his father’s former colleague. The later always got very awkward, very fast. 

He probably shouldn’t blame his dad for losing the Sheriff position after his mom’s death. Both were mourning in their own way – Stiles started having panic attacks whenever he just looked at something reminding him of her, and his dad tried to find the relief at the bottom of the whiskey bottle. But after coming back from Scott’s house, finding his father passed out in the living room, his hand bleeding all over the carpet because he clumsily tried to pick up a piece of glass from a smashed bottle and having to call him an ambulance, it slowly got better. It took few shouting matches on both of their sides, but after Mrs. McCall became their mediator, their conversations started to improve. 

So now they were here, his father without his beloved job, stuck at home, Stiles working the worst possible job at the worst possible place in Beacon Hills (except maybe for the sewage disposal plant but let’s be honest, he applied for that one too).

And he still couldn’t set foot on a skateboard. His vision always went white around the edges, with his breathing turning shallow. 

But he could live without it. After all, between the courses and the assignments at the Beacon Hills Community College, working at the diner and making sure his father wouldn’t die of a heart condition, he barely found some free time. 

When he finally reached the door of his house, he felt like he might fall asleep right there. But he had an early morning class the next day, and he knew his body would thank him for sleeping in his bed instead of just staying propped against the wall. 

The first thing he saw when he opened the door was a pile of officially looking envelopes. He sighed for what seemed like the millionth time this day and took it to the living room where his father was sitting with the newspapers on the sofa. When Stiles loudly halted in the doorway he looked up, his eyes coming to stop on the stack of letters in Stiles’ raised hand.

“Oh, hey, I completely forgot about the junk mail.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Big red letters are not junk mail. It even says ‘Urgent Demand’ on it.” He tossed the pile on the coffee table and moved to the kitchen to take their pre-made dinner – stir fry with tuna – out of the refrigerator. 

“Well, they always say that,” he heard his father say. “It’s only words anyway.”

“It’s nearly three thousand dollars.” He dumped the meal on a plate and put it in a microwave. “Dad, you can’t just ignore it.” He started setting the table. “But we can get through this, right? We’ll just sell the jeep. I’ll take the bus to school or maybe Scott could drive me. If I get myself a helmet and hold onto him real tight, I might even survive it."

“No, no, no, we’re definitely not selling the jeep. It’s your baby.” His dad emerged from the living room, holding one of the letters. “And honestly, I don’t have a burning desire to see you lying on the road, crying.”

The microwave beeped, signalizing their food was ready.

“So, plan B?” Stiles sarcastically asked as he divided the stir fry on two plates.

His dad sat at the table and pulled a glass of water closer to him. “They’re bluffing. I’ll think of something.”

Stiles sat across from him. “How are you getting on?” he asked, poking his meal with a fork.

“Uh, well...” He didn’t even lift head, stubbornly staring at the plate. “Nothing. Yet.” He added after a second of silence.

“I’ll talk to Natalie, sort something out.” Lydia’s mother had been helping him, trying to find his dad at least some working position. But it wasn’t easy. Not with his heart condition and the way his right hand still wasn’t working properly, ever since he’d cut himself.

“What would I do without you?”

Stiles smirked. “Fester.”

“Hm.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father nodding thoughtfully.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter here.

“The schedule is already full, I’m sorry.”

Stiles ran his hand down his face. After the talk with Lydia’s mother, he thought about taking extra shifts at the diner, but it seemed that that wouldn't work out either. 

“Maybe I could do something if you’re extra nice to me?” His boss looked at him with a sly grin. 

Stiles didn’t even bother with rolling his eyes this time. “Oh, come on, don’t be a dick all your life.” With that he walked from the boss’ office to the front where Scott was getting the tables ready for the day.

“That’s your extra nice?” A voice burst through the intercom.

"Now, how did my original-summer job become a rest-of-my-life job?" He asked, joining Scott in wiping down the tables.

Scott chuckled and tossed the dirty cloth into the bucket with water. "Oh, I've been meaning to tell you - some daughter of my mum's friend just got into this well-good scam." He grabbed a mop and started sweeping the tiles. "Catering service. Serving champagne and teeny-tiny food to moneybags. For twelve dollars an hour."

"Hm." Stiles leaned against a table. "Rich ass people and champagne or our boss and - ughhhhh." He pulled his hand from underneath the table with a chewing gum attached to it.

"I can get you the number if you want." Scoot took the bucket and the mop and headed off to the bathroom next to their locker room. "But you gotta be posh!" He called over his shoulder.

"Posh?" He leaned against the table again, so he was almost lying on it. "Scotty, I can definitely do posh."

* * *

That's how he found himself in a room full of polished girls with perfectly manicured nails and braided hair. Being the only man in the room definitely didn't help his nervousness. 

And as all the girls introduced themselves, he just felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into the padded chair. Was it a norm for every name to end with  _ ella _ suffix? And what was the worst part? Isabella, Arabella, Petronella and who-know-what-else-ella clearly knew what they were doing. He couldn't tell a bloody difference between a glass for white wine and red wine. And what on earth was  _ dessert wine _ ? 

He had never felt so stupid.

"Shit," he mumbled just as the tray he was carrying tilted, and the glasses fell to the floor.

Thank god it was just a training and not a real event.

* * *

"You're a lovely boy, but I'm just not sure."

Stiles nervously shrugged. "Let me guess, you're just not sure I'm the right kind of person for your clients. It's hard to say why exactly, but it's probably something to do with the fact that I'm not called Arabella or Isabella or anything-ella. Instead, my name looks as if someone smashed their head against a keyboard and is straightforward unpronounceable. And I don't have perfect nails, perfect anything. Actually, I'm completely wrong gender for this." He tugged at the sleeve of his plaid. "So even though I'm the only person with actual experience of actual work in the actual real world, and you know I'd try really, really hard, I'm just not the right kind of girl. Or boy, for that matter."

The sound of a phone ringing (something symphonic) cut through the room. The woman sitting across him at the other side of the table reached for it.

"This is Bella."

Stiles' hands immediately went to his head as he leaned against the backrest of the chair he was sitting in. 

_ Just another example of how you couldn't keep your rambling to yourself. You're never going to get the job now. _

"She did what?"

Stiles deeply breathed out and got up to leave.

"Oh, for God's sake. The silly cow. Yes, it's in three days. Everyone's already booked out."

He grabbed his hoodie and backpack from the floor and reached for the door.

"Wait!"

He turned back, startled. 

"Mie-, uhm, Mr. Stilinski."

* * *

"That sounds great."

His father's voice followed him up the stairs.

"Yeah, it would be if I hadn't said no," Stiles panted as he reached his room.

"What was the job?"

He threw the backpack on the bed. "Cooking and cleaning, the same as I do at work now. I might as well do it here."

"So the pay was rubbish?"

"No," he shouted, "it's actually better, like double, plus tips, but still..." He took off his shirt and changed it for an old he usually wore at home.

"But still what?"

"It's in a ski chalet." He made his way downstairs. "Near Andes. In Argentina. For four months. That's my whole break between semesters."

"Alright," he heard his dad mumble. "I mean, well, I'm sure I could-"

"You couldn't," he interrupted him. "I'd come back home and I'd find a skeleton on the couch holding the remote."

"That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/zenawa).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is probably gonna be me apologizing for my English and for the short length of each chapter :D

"It's totally the right decision."

Scott took another plate and started scrubbing the remnants of food.

Stiles hopefully looked at him. "You think so!"

"Yeah, sure." He glared at him. "What's a luxury chalet with hot rich clients and a beautiful ski resort got on this place? It's a no-brainer." He raised his gloved hand, holding a piece of what looked like a soaked piece of a hamburger bun. "See? Would you get this kind of quality entertainment in Argentina? I don't think so."

"Hey!" Stiles protested. "Isn't it me who's supposed to be the king of sarcasm?"

* * *

"Hi, it's Stiles Stilinski from yesterday," he nervously picked at his fingernail. "I was wondering if you're still ..."

"Still desperately seeking a chalet girl?" sounded the woman's voice. "Yes, I am. Even a chalet boy."

He stopped his pacing. "You are?"

"Would you do it?"

Stiles looked over his shoulder, looking at his dad, who was making himself a snack in the kitchen.

"But you would have to get to the airport by tomorrow afternoon, it's an over 24-hour flight. We just need to change the name on the ticket, and you'll be good to go."

"Yeah, okay, I'll be there."

* * *

He flung the door open with his hips because his arms were full of shopping bags. "All right," he announced as he laid the bags on the kitchen counter. "I'm gonna make freezer food to last 'til September." He started pulling out the ingredients for three pans of healthy lasagne. "You know how the microwave works, yeah?"

"Yeah," his father picked out a tomato. "It's basically a magnetron that converts the electricity-"

"No, no," he snatched the tomato back. "I mean on and off."

"Yeah, yeah, definitely." His dad looked at him. "Stiles, what am I doing? I'm packing you off to mountainous wasteland, while I'm stuck here, looking for a job."

"It'll happen. As long as you keep trying."

"But, you're only 20."

"Exactly, I'm 20!" He pulled out the cutting board from the bottom drawer. "Besides, it's Argentina. It's barely a wasteland."

"Argentina: famous for its wine, dancing, Lionel Messi and Iguazu Falls."

"You did your homework." Stiles grinned at his father, but the moment he took his eyes of the knife and the board, he cut through his finger. "Ouch!"

"You're so clumsy," his father started laughing. "No wonder they didn't really want to hire you."

"And you won't forget to have a bath, will you?" He asked as he turned to the sink, putting the cut under the stream of water.

"Every month."

He stared at his dad in terror. "I give up," he moaned. "Can you get me a band-aid from the bathroom?"

"Sure. But I think we ran out of the Batman ones."

"Stop making fun of me!" Stiles screeched.

The doorbell rang.

"I'm gonna get it!" He put the still slightly bleeding finger into his mouth and open the door. On their porch stood a small woman with dark hair. "Oh, hi! Thank you for coming. Please, come in," he stepped aside to let the woman into the house. "Dad," he shouted in the direction of the bathroom. "Come downstairs, there's someone I want you to meet!"

His dad descended the stairs, clutching the rail tight in his hand.

"Look, I've set up a delivery online, you'll get fresh groceries every week. Satomi, this is my health-freak dad, Noah." He gestured to the woman standing next to him. "Dad, this is Satomi. She'll bring you the food, make sure you put it in the right place, and if you're good, she might even cook you something."

"Hello."

"Now, I'm trusting you to keep him alive till I get back, okay?" he addressed to Satomi. "I already started on the food I'm gonna put into the freezer, so just put the bags on the table and get started, I'll be right there." Then he looked at his father. "Mrs. McCall said she'll stop by at least twice a week and bring you some homemade meal. She'll call you to arrange the day, because she has shifts at the hospital."

"Fine." He passed him the band-aid. "Can I help with the cooking?"

Stiles smiled as he put the sticky piece of tape over the cut. "Sure."

* * *

"So, my pay goes straight into the mortgage account," Stiles proclaimed as he lifted the duffel bag from the floor, moving around to settle his backpack comfortably on his back. "I'll send any tips right away. And remember, any envelope-"

"Big red letters, I know, don't worry." His father hugged him tight. "Now hurry up, you'll miss your flight."

"Maybe, maybe this isn't a great idea," Stiles anxiously tugged at the sleeve of his only warm jacket. He didn't actually own a winter jacket - he was living in California for God's sake! - so he counted on layering his plaids and jackets to keep himself warm.

"Go. Now." He pulled him into another hug. "I love you, Stiles."

"Love you too," he buried his face into his father's shoulder, blinking the tears back. "Bye, dad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Kudos and comments are highly appreciated.
> 
> See you next time.


	5. Chapter 5

Getting to a ski resort in Argentina turned out to be a quest of its own. Not only did he have three layovers, but the last plane which was supposed to land directly in Bariloche got rerouted, and he had to take a train. Which he managed to miss.

So in total, he was on the road for over 30 hours. As he exhaustedly dragged himself to the front of the train station, he vowed to never travel such distance again. Only back home. And then never again.

But the moment he set his duffel bag down and lifted his head to look around, his breath hitched in his throat. 

Awe-inspiring, enormous mountains covered in glistening white snow towered all around him. For someone who's never set foot out of California before it felt like stepping into a completely different world.

A beautiful, sparkling, white, massive world. 

And cold.

Man, was it cold.

He had literally stood there for one full minute, and he could already feel his feet freezing off his body. He tried to move his toes, and they did, surprisingly. Even if with a lot of resistance.

Out of nowhere, a woman's high pitched voice cut through the air. "Oh my god, I'll never do that again. I can't remember the whole night!"

Stiles turned around and saw a tall, blond girl standing to his right. She was wearing a dark blue anorak, a pair of woollen gloves, and a matching fluffy hat. She was clutching a phone to her ear, animatedly speaking with whoever was on the other side. Her other hand held a piece of cardboard with a capital M and something illegible behind that. If he really engaged his imagination, he could see it being his name.

"Honestly. Oh my god, yeah, did you see that guy who was staring at my tits the whole night?" She went on, not even bothering to lower her voice. "Ugh, it was so awkward. Yeah, and he was such a perv."

Stiles grabbed the duffel and strode to stand in front of her, smiling politely.

"And he had like, a hairy chest and everything, oh, can you imagine?" She looked up to check if someone had come out of the station, but stopped when she noticed Stiles. He managed to look like an even bigger idiot because he waved at her.

_ He waved at her! _

"Can I call you back, babe?" She hung up before the other person could say anything. She looked him up and down. "Seriously?"

Stiles shrugged. "Yep."

"You're, uhm," she helplessly looked at the name scribbled on the board she was holding. 

"You can call me Stiles," he offered.

She stared at him for at least half a minute before snorting and turning her back to him. "Okay, let's go. Put your bags in the back and get in."

Stiles looked behind her to the vehicle she was addressing to and stopped in his tracks.

There was a pair of llamas, living, breathing  _ llamas  _ right in front of him _. _

They were hitched to a small carriage with an old man sitting at the top of it, holding reins. He could tell he and the blondie would barely fit into the back even if he didn't have his bags. But he was willing to sacrifice the comfort for an opportunity to be close to a llama. Would he be allowed to pet them or maybe even feed them?

_ That would be so cool, _ he thought as he loaded his duffel onto the back seat.  _ Scott would probably die of jealousy.  _

Just as he started to take off his backpack, the carriage suddenly moved forward.

Stiles wanted to shout at the girl to stop, that he wasn't seated yet, but after a second he realized - she wasn't even there.

Instead, she was opening the door of a black car that was parked on the other side of the road.

He looked at the carriage, then at her. Again at the carriage. Again at her now in the car, staring at him. 

"Shit," he whispered and started running. 

* * *

"Oh my god, they're huge."

Stiles gazed in awe at the mountains as the blond girl, who had finally introduced herself as Erica, drove them to the chalet.

"Yeah, they're mountains," she said, sneer clear in her voice. "Huge is pretty much part of the concept."

He kept staring out of the window.

"You don't even ski, do you?" she asked after a moment of silence.

He shook his head.

"Then what are you doing here?"

He looked at her. "It's a job. I need to earn money."

"Earn?" she gaped at him as if the meaning of the word was a foreign concept to her. "What, as in like 'save'?"

He nodded but kept silent.

She slowed down as they drove through a small town, people with ski thrown over their shoulders walking along the road.

"Oh," she said to herself, honked, then stopped the car and rolled down the window. "I thought I recognized that ass," she shouted.

A young man with a red knitted cap leaned forward so his head was on the same level as Erica's. "Alright, ugly. You coming out?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Just dumping the new kid off."

"Oh, the new kid!" he squeaked excitedly. "Let me see."

Erica sat back so the newcomer could see Stiles and Stiles could see him.

He couldn't be much older than him, he had a cherubic face with big blue eyes and curls of blond hair poking from underneath his hat.

"Isaac, Stiles," Erica introduced them. "Stiles, Isaac."

"Hi," he waved.

_ Why do I keep waving at everyone? _

"Hi." He could feel Isaac's eyes on him. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, see you later," Erica waved goodbye and rolled the window back up.

_ Why does her waving not seem awkward at all? _

* * *

They drove for another twenty minutes before they reached the chalet.

"A bit poky, isn't it?" Erica asked as she popped the trunk open.

Stiles stared at her.

The chalet was made of dark timber, a layer of snow covering its roof. It was at least twice the size of his house back in Beacon Hills and looked just like all the cliché photos from Switzerland when you googled 'chalet'.

"So, is this guy head of some evil criminal empire?" he asked before he could restrain himself.

Erica glared at him. "He's a banker."

"That's a 'yes', then."

"You don't get it, do you?" she moved to stand right in front of him so he couldn't reach the bags.

"Get what?" 

"This is the best job in the Andes," she said. "They use the place to entertain clients plus a few family weekends. Apart from that, they're hardly ever here." She finally stopped frowning at him and stepped aside so he could take his backpack. "I had at least thirty girls texting me after Heather broke her leg, begging me for the job. But the agency said it had to be someone they'd seen."

"You know what's really funny?" Stiles rhetorically asked. "I wasn't going to take it at first."

She just looked at him with a blank expression.

"Okey, maybe not really funny," he admitted. "But-"

"Do what I tell you," she marched towards the porch. "And if you're not up to it, I will tell them."

"Listen, a week ago I was mopping puke in an old diner, and-"

"No!" she turned to him, outraged. "Listen, you Mr. California, no-coat, no-skiing freak show, the Hales fly in at five. They expect perfection from the start. Now, if you screw up, or more importantly, if you make me look bad, then clearing up puke will be a fond memory of the good old days. Got it?" She turned back so fast her own bag smashed him in the head.

"Got it," he murmured, watching her stride dramatically through the front door. "So, I'll just make myself at home, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea whether they use animal-powered transports with llamas in Argentina, but I just find llamas so so so cute I had to write them into the story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long even though it's just some stuffing before we get to the main event.

As Stiles wandered through the spacious rooms, he couldn't help but compare the place to his home.

The chalet was furnished with comfy ottomans and seats, woollen blankets and fluffy pillows. A pile of wood was laid next to a fireplace.

It all seemed very homely. 

On the other hand, most of the surfaces were cold-looking marble and stone. The walls were decorated with weird paintings, that looked as if someone had thrown up on a canvas, and even more weirdly shaped ornaments. There was also this strange wooden chandelier with a golden cow in the middle of it.

It was all so surreal he had to sit down on one of the couches and breathe for a moment.

A movement behind a lace curtain caught his eye.

He stepped on the balcony, and there it was - a long slope covered in white with people as tiny little dots.

Stiles hadn't seen that amount of snow ever in his life.

He ran downstairs and went out of the front door, through a gate in an otherwise stone wall which separated the Hales' property from the public space.

Standing in the middle of the slope, he felt a sharp wind piercing through his two thin plaid shirts, his sneakers getting drenched in the snow.

And then a very fast person skied by him. He jumped at least half a meter into the air and tried to step away, but another person went around his other side.

"Hey! Watch out!" He could hear their shouts as they disappeared into the distance.

He quickly turned back and ran into the safety of the chalet as fast as he could in the calf-deep snow.

When he entered the room he and Erica were supposed to share, he couldn't help but wonder how this girl could be hired as a helper with cleaning. Half of her stuff was scattered around of what he supposed was his half of the room. And not just regular stuff, like a book or a deodorant. Oh no, white lacy panties hung from his bedside lamp, a red bra laid on the top shelf, and next to it was a box of condoms. And not a small one either.

Stiles started to worry about getting some good night sleep.

He threw the offensive items onto the blond's bed then slumped onto his one, exhaling heavily as he tucked his bag under.

He would worry about unpacking later.

"It's a total nightmare," he heard Erica's voice from the outside. She must had gone out while he was giving himself a tour around the chalet.

"It's not like you've got to spend the next four months sharing a room with-" That was her friend's voice, Isaac's. "Oh no wait, you have!"

The girl had the audacity to chuckle. "I'm being serious, babe. It's like he's never seen snow before, it's like he's from Africa or something."

"A chalet boy who can't ski. That's classic."

"Tell me about it." Even through the window Stiles heard her sign. "Okay, see you later."

"See ya."

* * *

"Three golden rules of chalet-girling, boying or whatever," Erica stated while they were getting the main bedroom ready. "One. No friends up in a chalet. Two. You can party all you like as long as the breakfast is on the table at eight. You oversleep, you pack your bags."

"Friends, breakfast, check," Stiles gave her thumbs up with a wide smile.

"Three," she continued as if he hadn't said a word. "No sleeping with the clients. Unless they're fit. Or hot. Or hitting on you." That explained the box of condoms.

Stiles thought about it for a second. "So, basically there're only two rules."

For the first time since he'd met her, she looked bashful. "Basically."

* * *

"We're just gonna get the essentials now," the girl told him as they stepped to the counter.

"Right, so should I get some vegetables then, yeah?"

Erica snorted, then turned to the shop assistant. "Six tins of caviar, please. Beluga."

"Caviar, right" Stiles mouthed. "Of course."

* * *

Stiles was putting the vegetables - of course they had to buy some - into the fridge while Erica fluttered up and down the short stairs leading to the kitchen, moving bottles of wine to get them chilled.

"I'm more front-of-house type, you're more back office. 'Cause I know how to talk to them."

"Yeah, it's fine, I don't speak much posh anyway, dropped out after three semesters," he joked.

"Do you want to prepare the veggies?"

"I _live_ to prepare veggies." He took the packet of carrots. "Alright, come on, carrots. We've got a big game coming up. I want to see each and every one of you giving it 110 percent."

Erica stared at him. "You done?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I thought you said they landed at five."

"I did. But the pilot called. They ran into some headwind."

"Oh, right." He abruptly turned to her. "The _who_ called?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing - the Hales (and some other people on the side).

"Oh god, he's here already," Erica mumbled - more to herself than to Stiles - as she parked the car near the small runway.

"Who?" The only other person he saw around was a small, dark-haired man standing next to a bright-red car.

"The owners' all-round ski guide, fixer and all in all a huge pain in the ass, trust me on that," she stated while she got out of the SUV. "Stiles," she started another statement with a huge, fake smile on her face, "meet the very handsome, very powerful Bobby Finstock."

The man didn't even look at them. "You're late."

The girl turned back to Stiles. "Did I also mention very charming as well?" she asked rhetorically with a sly grin.

When Finstock finally looked at them, his eyes traveled slowly up and down Stiles' form. He had a sudden need to take a very long shower. "This is the new _criada_?"

"Hi, I'm Stiles," he decided to be bold and reached his hand for the man to shake it.

"Hm."

Stiles was once again left with his arm awkwardly hovering in the air.

"Oh, _bienvenidos_!" The man exclaimed and walked to meet the group of people stepping out of the small airplane.

"He's been trying to incorporate Spanish into his daily talk," Erica said when he was far enough not hear them. Though Stiles was pretty sure they would be ignored anyhow. "It's rather annoying."

Stiles nodded, watching the group hug Finstock. "So, who's everyone?"

"Well, you'll figure it out," Erica shrugged.

"You know you're gonna have to stop being so helpful all the time," he glowered at her.

The moment he glanced back at the group, who had in the meantime moved a little closer to them, he noticed a tall man among them, his muscular built evident even underneath the thick black coat he had been wearing. He had dark hair, stubble to die for and - from what Stiles could see from the distance - a set of piercing eyes.

He didn't even realize he had been staring until he heard Erica's whisper next to his ear. "Rule number three?" He scowled at her. They both agreed there were only two rules! "Anyway, he's taken."

"He turned you down, didn't he?" he found himself sniggering.

"No."

There was a moment of silence interrupted only by Stiles' quiet chuckles. But he soon realized the newcomers had finished their hugging and welcoming, and were slowly making their way towards them.

"So, what's the deal? How do I, you know, talk to them?" He nervously stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. 

"Oh, you don't talk to them. You don't look them directly in the eye." Erica's voice suddenly turned threatening. "Oh, and curtsy when you meet them," she advised just mere seconds before the greek-god, drop-dead-gorgeous guy walked to them.

Stiles immediately dropped the upper half of his body in a vague imitation of a curtsy. Was he supposed to know how to properly make one?

The next moment he knew he had made a mistake, because Erica next to him was still standing upright.

"What's up, Sourwolf?" He could almost feel the glee in her voice as she hugged the man.

"Hey, my loyal Puppy. " His voice wasn't as deep as Stiles thought it'd be, but it was nice nevertheless. "You okay down there?" 

Stiles looked up and saw the man's eyes boring straight into his own. He was right in his previous assessment - his eyes were beautiful though he couldn't really pinpoint their color.

"Uhm, yeah," he mumbled, straightening. His cheeks were burning and he knew they had to be bright red. "Just stretching."

"Right," he scowled at him worriedly. "Is this the new helper?" he addressed to Erica.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Something like that."

"Hi, I'm Stiles." Once again his hand was embarrassingly stretched in front of him, but not for long.

"Really?" the other man's eyebrows shot almost to his hairline.

"It's a nickname," he shrugged. "None of you would be able to pronounce my real name." 

"Okay then. I'm Derek," he introduced himself, firmly squeezing Stiles' hand. "And I'm not actually a wolf, no matter what Erica tries to tell you."

A dark-blond woman appeared to Derek's right and loudly kissed him on his cheek. "I'm so excited to be back, hi!" she squealed and hugged Erica.

"This is Heather's replacement, uhm, Stiles, did you say?" he looked at him questioningly. 

"Yeah," he confirmed.

"This is my girlfriend Kate," he introduced the woman who had stuck herself into his side. "And this beauty here is her younger sister Allison." A slim girl stepped onto his other side. She had to be closer to Stiles' age than the others, Stiles thought as she smiled at him, dimples and all.

"These are my sisters, Laura and Cora, Laura on your right, Cora on your left," Derek went on with the introductions, gesturing towards the two women standing next to Allison.

Laura waved at him adorably while Cora just scowled.

"And this is my uncle Peter." Another man looking like he stepped outside of a photoshoot wedged in between Derek and Allison. "Are you still following? There will be a test."

Stiles snickered but nodded.

"Hi, I'm Peter," he too shooked Stiles' hand. "Thank you for stepping in. Just do whatever Erica does."

"Well, not all of it," Derek mumbled under his breath.

"This is my sister Talia."

_Seriously, the genes in this family were crazy insane!_

The last woman stepped next to Peter, visibly despising of Stiles' choice of clothing.

"Who apparently has a throat infection," Peter continued when his sister stayed silent.

"Will you help us with the bags?" Derek asked to interrupt the uncomfortable silence.

"Yes," Erica nodded, then gripped his biceps and tugged him towards the plane.

They still weren't far enough from the other people when Stiles heard Peter say: "Give him a chance."

"I didn't say anything." That was probably Talia's voice.

"Yeah, that's part of the problem," the man snorted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Talia so much it hurt me to make her the mean one in here, but it was necessary. But we have good!Peter so that's awesome, right?
> 
> Thank you for reading this chapter and please, don't forget to leave kudos or a comment.


	8. Chapter 8

"And lovingly topped off with gravy, a la me."

Stiles watched as Erica poured the sauce over thinly sliced meat which he had plated on a silver antique-looking tray.

As she lifted the plate to bring it downstairs he hurriedly grabbed a bowl of singed brussel sprouts.

He was almost at the stairs when the girl in front of him abruptly stopped and scowled at him. "You're in the back office, remember?"

He glowered right back at her. "Wouldn't want to steal your thunder with sprouts."

She continued staring at him until he slackened and put the bowl back onto the counter.

* * *

The night progressed fairly quickly, with Erica running up and down the stairs from the dining room to the kitchen.

Stiles was able to hear the chatter and laughter coming from downstairs and couldn't help but be a little homesick - these people were one big family, they knew each other and Erica spent way more time with them at the table than helping him with the food in the kitchen.

He contemplated going into the dining room too, acting as if Erica was taking too long to bring another course, but when he finally found the courage to walked down the stairs, he saw all the people playing some kind of a weird game which composed of drawing on each other faces with a piece of charred cork.

That was some really weird stuffed and he backed up into the kitchen.

When Erica finally turned up again, her face dotted with a few black spots, she hopped onto the counter and grabbed one of the cream puffs he just finished.

"Mmmmm," she moaned, already reaching for another one. Had it been Stiles's dad trying to snatch the desserts, he would already smacked his arm. "I want to  _ be  _ a cream puff!"

"So, these guys fly in a private jet and their idea of fun is rubbing a burnt cork on each other's faces?" he asked from where he was washing the dishes.

Erica nodded, her mouth too full to form any words.

"That's insane," he shook his head in disbelief.

"Sanity is overrated. Tried it once, didn't really get it."

Stiles squeaked a little as he turned to the stairs where Derek stood, smiling at them. He wore grey slacks and a forest green buttondown with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, looking way more comfortable than Stiles could ever imagine being in such clothes. With the long coat no longer covering his body, Stiles was happy to see that he was indeed right about the man's incredible physique.

Honestly, the only thing keeping Stiles from openly drooling was the feeling of Erica's eyes boring into the back of his head. Not even the fact that the man's face was almost all black from the cork could decrease his attractiveness.

Derek walked to the alcohol-fridge - as Stiles began to call it - rummaging through their selection of wines.

"Join in. We don't bite." It took Stiles a second to realize he was talking to him. "Well, my mum bites a bit," the man admitted, closing the fridge door. "The rest of us just, well, we are just having a little bit of fun."

He managed a half-smile. "Maybe I will, we'll have to wait and see. For now, I think I'm all good in here with my good friends, the dishes." He lifted a plate out of the soapy water to make his point but tilted the plate a little too much, which resulted in the water running down the front of his shirt and pants.

He closed his eyes, just breathing the embarrassment out. "Yep, definitely staying here for now."

He wished the closed eyes would save him from Derek's quiet chuckling and Erica's shameless laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a horrible person, I know I am. I would say I'm gonna be better at posting more frequently or at least regularly, but we all know that'd be a lie.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naively I thought I'd write more during holidays but... surprise surprise, I didn't. But school's coming back so maybe I can get this story closer to the finish.
> 
> As always kudos and comments are greatly appreciated <3
> 
> English is *still* not my first language so if you see any horrible mistakes please tell me

"Are you eating alright?" Stiles asked as he picked on his dinner with a fork.

" _Five times a day, don't worry,_ " answered his dad. " _What are the people like?_ "

"They're..." He chewed for a second, contemplating how to answer the question "...fine, I guess," he finished as he watched out of the window. Allison just jumped into the Jacuzzi dressed in her bikini and matching set of mittens and knitted hat, clutching what seemed to be a bottle of champagne. "And even if this doesn't work out, I can always nick a few of the paintings they've got here. What's that noise?" he asked when a loud beeping tone in the phone got his attention. It sounded just like their kitchen smoke detector.

" _Uhm, nothing._ " He could hear his father dropping something, probably a spatula onto the kitchen counter. " _It's just next door, there's a, uhm, there's a truck there, reversing. I think, yeah._ " The beeping finally stopped. " _Listen, Stiles, I really miss you, you know._ "

"I miss you too, dad," Stiles smiled softly. "I love you."

" _Love you too._ "

* * *

"Erica? Erica! It's seven." Stiles tried to shake the girl awake, but she just turned around, slapping him in his face in the process. "Rule number two? Nothing?"

Erica just groaned from underneath her blankets.

"Fine," he shot from the bed, quickly changing and running to the kitchen. 

He had no idea what the rich people usually ate for their breakfast since Erica didn't exactly leave him a meal plan, so he just went with the usual - pancakes, waffles, omelets, bacon, sausages, toasts. Normal people food, just from better stuff, costing at least ten to eleven times more.

Stiles set the table, putting the maple syrup, fruits, and even some caviar for a good measure in the middle of the table. He didn't think they'd like to drink champagne for a breakfast but left a bottle on the side table anyway. He read somewhere that it could be used as a 'cure' against a hangover.

He didn't wait for his employers to sit down at the table, but went back to his and Erica's room.

"Jesus, Stiles," Erica groaned as he pulled back the curtains, letting the bright sunlight in. "You have to wake me. I don't need you making me look bad."

Stiles let out a frustrated sigh, getting ready to retort when she finally lifted her head from her pillow. "Yeah, I can see that," he couldn't help but sneer.

Erica gave him a weird look, then reached for her mirror. "God!" she screamed.

More than half her face was still covered with the dark brown and black spots from the previous evening. It looked like a very nasty case of chickenpox.

Stiles laughed so hard he fell off his bed.

* * *

"So what am I supposed to do the whole day then?"

Stiles trailed after Erica as she power-walked through the now empty house.

"I don't know," she heaved a sigh as she reached for a pair of ski boots. "I'm sure you'll find something. Look around." With that she grabbed skis and left him alone in the equipment room.

Stiles spent at least two hours looking at the various types of boots, gloves and gear before finally mustering the courage to try some of the stuff on. He was pretty sure he could do that. Erica did it and she didn't explicitly tell him not to.

A snowboard on the top shelf caught his attention. 

_It can't be that difficult_ , he thought. He knew how to handle a skateboard, this was practically the same thing.

But when he finally made his way to the slope it turned out how wrong he was.

For starters, he couldn't even strap his shoes to the board, because it kept sliding down the hill out of his reach.

After what felt like hours he decided to just call it a day, research, and try again tomorrow.

It's not like he had anything better to do.


End file.
